


Slow

by ThisPolarNoise



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Being very quiet because of hurt character's bad headache, Carrying, Character Cradling Sick Character's Head In Their Lap, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rubbing A Sick Character's Temples, Stopping a meeting/conference call to care for sick colleague, heavy on the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24191092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisPolarNoise/pseuds/ThisPolarNoise
Summary: 'It’s been a few years since Hunley joined the IMF as its new secretary, and some things never changed, namely being called out of his bed very late at night or very early in the morning because someone in the CIA wanted to yell at his agents... Ethan has been on this particular mission on his own, something that is definitely out of the ordinary.'
Relationships: Alan Hunley & Ethan Hunt, Alan Hunley/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Slow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplecoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/gifts).



It’s been a few years since Hunley joined the IMF as its new secretary, and some things never changed, namely being called out of his bed very late at night or very early in the morning because someone in the CIA wanted to yell at his agents. He’d only just left the office when he got the call this time, managed to get home and splash some water on his face and put on a clean shirt before he had to turn around. Ethan has been on this particular mission on his own, something that is definitely out of the ordinary. There have only been a few times that had happened in the past, as far as Hunley was aware; once when he was believed to be a traitor, once in 2011 when he'd been in deep cover for several months, and some smaller undercover missions after coming back from sick leave. None of those missions had happened whilst Hunley was in charge.

This particular mission had called for a light touch, for great care to be taken to make sure the wrong people weren't implicated, and as one of their most experienced field agents, Ethan had not only volunteered to take the lead but taken every necessary precaution. As always though, his actions had led to the wrong conclusions being made and the wrong sort of attention being given to them by several other covert agencies. Since taking the job, Hunley has often wondered if that was simply the nature of the IMF, to do such vital work while being viewed as at best an inconvenience, at worst a threat.

Ethan gets to the conference room only a few minutes before the conference call with the other intelligence brass is due to start. He’s limping on his left leg again, the old injury playing up as it often did after he'd pushed himself a little too hard on a mission. There’s a bruise and a lump on his forehead, like he’s hit it hard, some grazes on his arms and cheek, road rash maybe. There are deep bags under his eyes and they’ve lost some of their shine to his exhaustion.

He smiles at Hunley, albeit a little sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late, Sir. My flight was delayed.”

Hunley returns the smile, gets up from behind his desk to greet him properly, taking Ethan's hand between both of his and squeezing tightly.

"It's no trouble, Ethan, you're right on time," he says, then pauses, adds it like an afterthought even though it's his main concern: "Have you been to medical yet?"

Ethan nods. "It’s nothing serious."

He narrows his eyes. The last time he’d spoken to Ethan had been just before he got on the transport back to Washington, and he hadn’t sounded well, and he only seems a little brighter now. It could just be exhaustion, but he’s had plenty of opportunity to ask to postpone the meeting, to go home and sleep instead, and he hasn’t. Hunley realises he can’t probe any further into it without perhaps seeming excessively curious, and the alert is coming up on his laptop for the meeting to begin anyway.

Ethan sits in Hunley’s chair behind the desk whilst Hunley stays standing in front of it, leaning back and resting his weight against it. These meetings are all a game, all about posturing and not even remotely about who was right or wrong, whose jurisdiction the mission actually came under. Hunley had become numb to that when he was in the CIA, but since he left it’s become more and more apparent.

Ethan was a good agent, but he was no good at the politics, had no patience to learn. It was one of the many reasons Hunley had been so quick to trust him. He told the truth in conferences and debriefs when most agents as seasoned as he was would have lied just to save themselves a bit of extra paperwork.

Despite the hour, Sloane looks the same as she always does. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been awake or working, never has; her face seems like it’s made of stone without a single hair out of place. Hunley has never managed quite that level of invulnerability but he’s had time to prepare himself, no matter how brief, everything from his suit to his tie clip is immaculate. He always manages when these things come up. If he looks weak, so does the whole IMF.

“Good evening, Erika, I trust you have a good reason for keeping us all up so late.”

“You already know I do,” Sloane says, barely managing to keep her teeth unclenched.

“Enlighten me,” Hunley shoots back. He hadn’t gotten this far in the international intelligence community by playing all his cards first.

Sloane clearly wasn’t in the mood for games. Maybe she was just as tired as he was, god knew he’d never looked forward to meetings like this when he was in her position, although he doubted she’d ever skip the opportunity to treat him like her inferior. “Linton Thorpe.”

Just the arms dealer then. If she wasn’t going to bring up any of the other details of the mission, neither was he.

“And this really couldn’t have waited until tomorrow morning when I’ve had time to give Agent Hunt a full debrief and finish the mission reports?”

“He was our source, we had him right where we needed him.”

“And where you needed him was selling viral weaponry to Chechan separatists? Good lord, Erika.” He raises his eyebrows. “We were well within our rights to bring him in. His actions were putting thousands of lives at risk.”

There’s a clatter behind him, but he doesn’t pay it much attention.

“He might have been an informant, but how many lives is that worth? How many of his deals did he actually tell you about?”

“Don’t act holier-than-thou with me, Alan, I know how many deals were made here in your time in charge, even if you have everyone at the IMF fooled.” He realises that Sloane isn’t looking at him any more, instead she’s staring right at Ethan. “What do you think Hunt would do if he knew about the arrangements with Aldrich or Petrov? Wasn’t someone in your department even considering making an offer to Owen Davian at one point?”

“As I seem to remember, Erika, that was you,” he says, struggling to keep his voice on the snide side of even.

He glances back at where Ethan is sat, blinking slowly at the pen he’s dropped on the table like he isn’t sure how it got there, paying no mind to the conversation in front of him. Hunley suspects it wouldn’t have been such a calm reaction if he had been aware of what was just said. “I think we’ll continue this conversation at a more sensible hour, Erika.”

Sloane tries to protest, but he ignores it, clicks the ‘end call’ button on the remote, then walks around the desk and crouches next to Ethan.

“Hey,” he says very softly, rests a gentle hand on his forearm. “Are you with me?”

Ethan flinches at being touched unexpectedly, then swallows, looks up, meets his eyes with bloodshot ones.

Hunley does his best not to sigh with relief at the reaction, but doesn’t manage to fully hide his concern this time. “You were gone for a minute.”

Ethan blinks slowly, rubs his eyes with his knuckles.

“I’m going to call for one of the doctors to come up here.” He reaches for the phone on the desk. “Clearly they missed something if  _ that  _ is nothing serious.”

“Don’t.” Ethan says, lifting his hand away from the phone before he can start to dial "They already ruled out any serious brain injury, it’s just a concussion. I'm fine, really, I’m just tired," he insists, but he doesn't quite succeed hiding the pain tensing his jaw. "I thought I could at least make it through the meeting."

"You shouldn't even have had to try," Hunley says gently. "If you think that your wellbeing is less important than another video conference with the CIA, I have been doing something seriously wrong."

He can't meet Hunley's eyes again. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"I'm not trying to admonish you, Ethan," he sighs, shifts his weight. "I would have cancelled the meeting if you had asked, but I understand that most of my predecessors haven't been so accommodating. Just… please tell me in the future."

"Thank you, Sir."

“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” he says gently, although he knows he’s pushing his luck now. “I know you’re not supposed to be alone after a head injury.”

Ethan shakes his head, then winces, raises a hand to the lump. “I tried Luther but he’s out on another mission with Jane.”

Hunley interjects before Ethan can insist he’s okay again. “If you need somewhere to stay, I have a spare room.”

Ethan takes a while to reply.

“If you’re sure, sir,” he says, hesitantly like Hunley might take it back if he agrees.

“Of course.” He offers Ethan a hand up and he takes it, clearly needing the support. He seems reluctant to let go, although Hunley isn’t sure if he’s just imagining that, just hoping. They walk close together towards the elevators, their arms brushing together, neither of them daring to make a move, either away or closer.

Ethan leans back against the rail as Hunley pushes the buttons, then leans into his side when Hunley stands just as close as he had been before, rests his head on his shoulder and closes his eyes. Hunley is frozen to the spot, like even taking a deep breath might make him realise what he’s doing and move away, but he doesn’t, only opens his eyes when the elevator reaches the basement.

The parking lot under the building is dark and a lot less stuffy than the conference room, and Ethan breathes a sigh of relief to be outside and away from the bright lights.

Hunley touches the button to unlock his car, one of only a few left in there at this time, mostly security staff or analysts on a different timezone, and opens the passenger door for Ethan, who ducks under his arm into the seat with a grateful look. Hunley shuts the door behind him and walks around to his own door, slides into the driver’s seat.

Even the streets of Arlington are quieter at this time of night, and as they drive further out of the city the roads are almost deserted. It’s the one advantage of working so late.

Ethan has his head rested against the window, but his eyes are screwed tightly shut as if he was just searching for the coolest surface he could find for his injured head. The silence isn’t as comfortable as it usually is between them, and Hunley can’t quite tell if it’s because of the waves of pain and tension that are practically rolling out from Ethan right now, or if it’s because of what was spoken about at the meeting.

It’s Ethan who speaks first, when they’re only a little way out of the parking lot. “Sloane… she mentioned Davian, didn’t she?”

Hunley nods stiffly. “She worked in my department in ‘05. I found out she was trying to make an immunity agreement with him.” He frowns, his brows furrow, but he doesn’t quite dare to try and meet Ethan’s eyes, keeps staring at the empty road ahead. “I stopped her, had her transferred to a different department afterwards. I don’t make deals with men like that and I don’t like it when those who work for me try, no matter what she might have been trying to imply. The only good that ever came of it was that we were able to provide the IMF with some information when your team was finally sent after him. I’m so sorry we let him get away from us for so long”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What for?”

“For being honest with me.”

“I could still be lying to you,” he says pointedly, although he should just accept the thanks and stop playing the devil’s advocate.

Ethan shrugs slightly in the corner of his vision. “I know this is the truth, I read the files after everything happened.”

“If you already knew, why ask?”

“I wanted to see if you would tell me the truth.”

Hunley turns just in time to see a small, fleeting smile pass Ethan’s lips.

“I’m glad I passed the test.”

“So am I, sir,” he says softly. “Do you know what he did?”

“I know he kidnapped then murdered your protege, then kidnapped your wife.”

Ethan nods slightly, and Hunley hears a hitch of pain in his breathing when he does. “He tried to do the same thing to me. Planted a bomb in my skull to make sure I did what he wanted me to,” he pauses, then adds “It didn’t work, and the surgeons fixed everything, but my head is still kind of a mess, sometimes.”

“Like now?” Hunley asks.

“Like now. When I get hit in the head, it hurts more and for longer. I’m more prone to concussions than most people. I thought I got away with it this time, then I got on the plane…” he stops talking and rubs his eyes. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… Thanks for keeping an eye out for me, sir.”

Hunley can’t find an answer for that, but it doesn’t take long for the silence to stretch out again, and for Ethan to fall asleep in the seat next to him.

* * *

Hunley’s apartment building is an inconspicuous building that barely differs from the ones around it. The hallways are clean, but not excessively fancy. The whole place is just on the nice side of average. Back when he was the Director of the CIA, he had a house outside the city, but he never spent much time there anyway. He sold it when he left; not only is this place more convenient for IMF HQ, but living somewhere bigger seems excessive when it’s only him.

He carries Ethan in from the car instead of trying too hard to wake him, he's been through enough these last few weeks.  Ethan is a light sleeper but he barely reacts when Hunley’s arms slide beneath him, only curls closer into Hunley’s chest, burying his face in his shirt, away from the light. Hunley is careful not to knock into any door frames or the elevator, or jostle him too much when he finally sets him down on the spare bed.

The spare room is already made up, if a little dustier than the rest of the apartment. He drops Ethan’s rucksack on the floor at the end of the bed, and by the  _ thunk  _ it makes against the floor, Hunley suspects there are more weapons in there than changes of clothes.

That’s what it takes to finally wake Ethan up with a jolt. He sits bolt upright, eyes wide and blinking fast to try to focus.

“Where am I?”

Hunley sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. “The spare room of my apartment. I didn’t want to wake you, so I carried you in here.”

Ethan screws his eyes shut again and practically falls back.

“Do you need anything? Something to sleep in, a toothbrush?”

Ethan doesn’t answer for a moment then whispers. “A clean t-shirt would be good, if you have any.”

Hunley nods, leaves the room to find one from one of this drawers. He only really wears t-shirts to sleep in or as under-shirts, and he knows all of his will be far too big for Ethan, but it’s better than nothing.

Ethan is curled up on the bed with his head in his arms when Hunley gets back with the t-shirt. His teeth are clenched tightly and so are his fists. Hunley turns off the light in the hallway outside then the one in Ethan’s room, and walks in, intentionally making enough noise that he won’t surprise him this time.

“I think you were perhaps a little optimistic about getting changed,” he says gently.

Ethan makes a quiet sound of agreement, but doesn’t move, doesn’t uncover his eyes even though it is that much darker now.

Hunley doesn’t even try to stop himself this time. He reaches out and gently touches his upper arm, rubs it gently. He isn’t expecting any response, never mind the sob that escapes Ethan’s throat. He jerks away, not wanting to have been the one who hurt him.

“Please stay,” he whispers, sounding so desperate Hunley could no less move than he could cut off his own arm.

“I will,” he promises.

Ethan reaches out for the hand he’d flinched away from, but Hunley doesn’t take it. He shifts on the bed until he’s close enough that Ethan can rest his head in his lap, and that’s exactly what he does. He’d always hoped this would happen in better circumstances, but what he wants isn’t important right now.

“My ex-partner got migraines too, and he swore that massages helped. I can give it a try, if you like?”

“Anything,” Ethan whispers. It feels like a physical wound to hear him as weak as he is when he is by far the strongest person Hunley has ever met.

Hunley very gently runs a hand through his hair and, when he doesn’t flinch again, starts rubbing circles over his temples with his first two fingers. His head is warm, almost feverish, although he’s curled up under the blankets like it’s his only lifeline. It will pass, Hunley knows, and he’s not going to deny him that small comfort before it does. Ethan makes a soft sound of relief and leans back so the weight of his head is in Hunley’s hands as he continues, using the rest of his hands as well now.

It strikes him, not for the first time, that Ethan is a lot smaller than he often appears. He’s strong, muscular, but he’s not a tall man, and must be a disadvantage in a lot of fights. Hunley wonders if it’s the reason he’s taken such a beating this time but in the end, how he got hurt doesn’t matter, it just matters that Hunley does everything he can to make him stop hurting this much. Ethan slowly falls asleep as Hunley’s fingers rub the tension from his scalp, and it isn’t long before he dozes off too, just glad to have been of some use.

* * *

Ethan is already awake when he opens his eyes, looking a lot more alert, more alive than he had the night before. He still has his head rested on Hunley’s legs, and is watching him as he wakes up. He’s stiff from sleeping sat up, but it’s worth it if it means Ethan feels even a little better than he had.

“Good morning,” he says quietly, and Hunley smiles in return. “Thank you for letting me stay, sir. Sorry I kept you up.”

“It was no trouble,” he says softly, shaking his head. He’s rarely seen Ethan as relaxed as he is now, hopes it’s because he knows he’s safe, not because of his head. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better.” Ethan sits up slowly, and Hunley realises they’re both still wearing the same clothes they had been yesterday.

He leans into Hunley’s shoulder like he had a few times the night before, but Hunley isn’t sure if it’s because he’s still tired, still hurting, or something else, until Ethan continues. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Hunley blinks. “What?”

“I would have asked last night, but I didn’t want you to think it was something to do with the concussion,” he says with a slightly nervous smile. “Unless I misread the situation?”

“No,” Hunley replies immediately. “No, you didn’t. I didn’t think… You do remember the times I tried to have you killed, don’t you?”

Ethan nods, shrugs slightly. “You’re not the first, sir, and you’ve more than made up for it.”

It takes a while for him to even attempt to find the right words to reply this time, so he doesn’t. Instead he kisses Ethan on the temple, carefully avoiding any of the bruises. Ethan’s cheeks go red with heat, and he leans up to return it, pulls Hunley close. They’re both still hazy with sleep, but maybe that just makes it a little better, makes Hunley feel a little less restricted by his own self-consciousness.

As Hunley runs his hand through Ethan’s hair for the second time in as many days, he starts to think that maybe it doesn’t matter what he thinks he deserves as long as they both want this. Ethan seems to feel him overthinking all of this and pulls him closer, deepens the kiss, and he lets himself forget everything else.


End file.
